


Another Thing We Didn't See

by made_of_lions_and_wolves333



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x04, Gen, Sansa Deserves Better, Sansa-centric, Scene Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 04:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/made_of_lions_and_wolves333/pseuds/made_of_lions_and_wolves333
Summary: Again, my personal twist on the official 'Sansa and the Hound' reunion and their conversation.[8x04 Scene Rewrite]"… If I ran from the battle with you, what would we have done after that?""I could've protected ya.""Like how you protected me from the Lannisters?"





	Another Thing We Didn't See

“… She could have made you happy, for a while.”

She’s once learned from the mouth of Littlefinger that paid whores will make a man happy for long as his coin goes. But ordinary women who act like paid whores and don’t work in a pleasure house are the best kind of fuck. The man will leave her room happy and still have a coin to spare. That’s why she is somewhat surprised when The Hound refuses the milk maiden’s offers altogether. The threat of the Night King is gone. Arya killed him, and tonight, is for celebrating the North’s survival. It’s not so common to see a living warrior choose a drink over the warm flesh of a willing girl.

“There’s only one thing in this world that may make me happy,” he says. So he claims.

Sansa trains her voice to sound curious and soft. “And what’s that?”

“It’s my own fuckin’ business!” He clenches his teeth into a growl, most likely to either scare her off or catch her off guard.

It doesn’t work. He’s not frightening, she realizes in an instant. He’s not nearly as vicious or awful as she remembers him. No, now he’s just… pitiful. Nothing more. Sansa doesn’t feel the need to turn away. She merely tips her chin towards him and studies his face, privately wondering why even Arya of all people, is still open for the old dog’s company after all that's been said and done.  

In fact, it’s him who fidgets this time, growing uncomfortable under her thoughtful gaze. “It used to be that you wouldn’t even look me in the face.”

Once again, Sansa’s blood runs cold, and her ivory skin turns to steel underneath. Perhaps he thinks she’s ashamed, but she’s not. “I’ve seen a lot worse than you since we last met,” she assures him, not missing another beat.

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard,” The Hound chides. “I’ve heard you’ve been broken in real rough.”

“And he got what he deserved. I gave it to him.”

“How?” he asks without a second thought, as if sharing this sort of information… killing men, is so natural.

But, Sansa knows exactly how to humor him for a moment. “Hounds,” she replies shortly with a bitter smirk.

He laughs at this of course, though to Sansa it is only a ripple of pathetic rasps drowned out by the bubbly ale in his cup. “You’ve sure changed, Little Bird.”

"You haven't."

Then, he inhales sharply, shoulders collapsing. “Now you know, though. You know if you would’ve just came with me from Blackwater when first I told ya… not of that would’ve happened. No Littlefinger. No Ramsey. Not of it.”

And instead of agreeing with his reasoning, Sansa earnestly has to ask him, “And what would’ve happen then? If I ran from the battle with you, what would you have done with me after that?”

“I could’ve protected ya.”

“Like how you protected me from the Lannisters? Or... would you have fucked me bloody?”

He stills, no longer sipping his ale or slowly picking at his meat. He stares at her, captivated, but Sansa can read him better than that. He knows he walked right into that one, and she let it hit him hard.  

She continues, “Littlefinger said he would protect me. Tyrion said he’d try to protect me. Even Jon, my own family, wanted to protect me… and then suddenly we’re here, feeding two dragons and crawling under a foreign queen we never asked for.”

He doesn’t answer her. Nonetheless, in some unspoken urge, Sansa reaches for his hand with a little mercy, one final time.

“See, I’ve learned from my past, Sandor. No good comes from men who _say_ they’ll protect me, when somehow their actions always show me differently. Would you have been able to protect from yourself?”


End file.
